


naked angel in my heart

by elijah_was_a_prophet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cunnilingus, Drugged Sex, F/F, Masturbation in Bathroom, Mild Blood, Scarification, Spanking, True Love, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elijah_was_a_prophet/pseuds/elijah_was_a_prophet
Summary: She wanted something, even if it wasn’t success in gymnastics, and she was going to get it.
Relationships: Top Gymnast at School/Fellow Student Pining For Her, Top Gymnast/Fellow Student/Spongy Alien
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	naked angel in my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).



Zinaida Maratovna was the prettiest gymnast at the Outer Belt Academy of Gymnastics. A meter and three quarters tall, she had long black hair and the sharp facial structure of the girls from fashion holos. Coach Yeltsin and Coach Radulova and Coach Vinogradova all praised her flexibility and lines, made her demonstrate tossing the hoop with one long fingered hand and rolling the ball down the lines of her arms which curved like those of any Greek statue. She walked like Ianna descending from Heaven in all her splendor and the other girls split to form a path wherever her feet fell. 

Serafima Igorevna, plain and short, wanted to be her. She was smaller than Zenaida in a way that wasn’t treasured, and although her flexibility was greater it left her joints loose and liable to collapse. After she’d fallen during the previous year’s spring gala Coach Yeltsin had suggested she find some other field of study, but it was not in her blood to quit. She wanted something, even if it wasn’t success in gymnastics, and she was going to get it.

“I’m tired of hearing about Zina.” Tamara said to Zinaida at lunch. “I’m tired of hearing that she was so brilliant today, or about how good her routines are, or whatever you’re on about now. So please shut up.”

“You don’t have to be rude about it.” 

Tamara looked unconcerned as she shoved her roll into her empty milk carton. They always checked to see if the girls ate, but there were a hundred tricks flying around to hide food away. A thousand lectures on the importance of food as fuel could never undo the images everyone held of a perfect, rail thin gymnast. 

Zinaida wasn’t rail thin, remembered a traitorous part of Serafima’s brain. She had breasts that bounced during jumps and hips that served as anchor points for her high cut leotards. Those leotards were the best, showing flashes of thigh and the side dip of her ass and sometimes during stretches the faint edges of her cunt. Once the teacher had asked Zinaida to sit on Serafima in her center split and she’d almost died, Zinaida’s full weight pressing her into the ground and making her wet. She’d laid there and hoped nobody noticed the wet spot over her crotch. 

“I got news,” Galina said when she slid next to Tamara, too in a rush to have even grabbed a tray. 

“What?”

“It’d better be good.”

She lowered her voice to a sub-whisper. “Zina dropped her ball this morning.”

“When?”

“Level X practice. They said she did a toss into a front walkover, you know, baby stuff, when suddenly she fell back on her head and the ball bounced off her legs. They’re claiming it’s an injury.”

“Why couldn’t it be?”

“Do you think that she’d really injure herself doing that? Or, if she did somehow get an injury, why didn’t she complain about it?”

“I think the only thing wounded is her pride.”

“You got that right. Now quit talking about her before it ruins my lunch.”

“I think Sima wants to hear more about her,” Galina said, and that was not a look Serafima wanted turned on her. She felt a wave of fear at the thought that anyone might know she wanted women. 

There were no boundaries of affection when everyone was presumed heterosexual, but when one member of the group was outed affection was constantly misinterpreted as interest. She’d be an outcast, not welcome to rub the other girls’ muscles out, or do their hair, or sleep in their beds when their cramps got so bad they’d take anything as a heat source. Old thoughts died hard, and although everyone made gestures towards acceptance it was across the river, so to speak, towards a mythical gay country where all the lesbians were fucking each other and not towards girls they’d have to see and work with every day. 

Zinaida was in class after lunch, smelling of camphor balm and the low-level perfume she always wore. All the girls wore warmups and pajamas and other comfortable clothes, but it looked especially good on her, sweatpants that hugged her ass tight enough to show she didn’t have on underwear and a jacket unzipped low enough to show the tops of her breasts. Between them hung a silver ring on a chain. 

“This is stupid,” Tamara whispered to Serafima as their teacher pulled up yet another slideshow about the Great Space Migration. “We already know all this. Americans, New Zealanders, and Unified Flight Teams go into space, they start the wagon trains, they colonize planets, blah blah blah. How many pictures of Anton Gusev can we be expected to look at?”

“As many as it takes for you to get above a 70 on the exam.” Galina reached over and tapped Tamara’s computer screen, bringing up her grades. “You’re borderline flunking.”

“Haven’t failed a class yet. If it gets that bad I’ll actually try.”

“I could help,” Serafima offered. “If you need someone to study with.”

“Fuck that. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like watch O-dramas?”

“My brother only has Skynet access during study group time. We can’t text or send pictures, just video call for half an hour every day. I’m not giving that up.”

The other two girls were silent. Tamara’s brother Mikheil had raised her, made her stay late at the gym so she’d have some chance of making it off their asteroid mining station and living somewhere without constant threat of collisions and blacklung. They didn’t know a life like that, and so they didn’t comment on anything else as class started.

Lecture went on endlessly. The same things they’d hear since primary school turned out not to be true at higher levels, those early lessons being a series of half-truths told as to not confuse the children. SpaceCo wasn’t a benevolent attempt to help people escape a slowly decaying planet, it was a profiteering monopoly that’d only ever done good on accident. Professor Bensoir’s ideals of a utopian society had been rejected for being a form of cultural genocide, according to his unexpurgated papers. Anton Gusev slept around. 

That last fact was admittedly less serious, but it was at least the fun kind of dramatic revelation and not the greedy or racist one. The teacher glossed over it to talk about the initial artificial asteroid colonies, though, and attention began to wander again. Girls were hiding secret text conversations in tiny windows on the sides of their screens or reading the popular manga series _Himeko-chan and the Ninety Nine Crystals of Power_ , which had 292 volumes and was only up to Crystal 49. To Serafima’s right Tamara was texting her friend in the artistics school, and to Serafima’s left Galina was working on erotic fanfiction.

In front of her Zinaida was actually typing notes, further proving that she was the perfect, prettiest, hardest working, most talented, and most obnoxious girl at school. Anyone who took notes was making everyone else look like a bunch of lazy slackers. 

A notification popped up in the corner of her screen from Galina, asking for a beta reader. Serafima ignored it. She was not reading eight thousand words of hardcore porn where anyone could see it, especially the kind Galina wrote with loving descriptions of giant veiny cocks and sweet plum sized balls and pretty heroines with heaving bosoms getting railed. It wasn’t even hot to her, as the writing focused so much on the love interest’s rippling pecs and lady killer smile that the heroine’s body faded into the background. 

She preferred the fic of one of Galina’s online friends, Kristina, who wrote scorching f/f incest for the movie _She_ , which was about a family of circus performers who are haunted by a tent manufacturer whose factory burned down with her inside. The indulgent porn scenarios Kristina created for Helen and Margarite were so good Serafima could only read them behind a locked bathroom door, hand shoved down her pants. 

After class and second gym she checked her phone and saw Kristina had updated. She shared a room with Tamara, who was in the library talking with her brother, and there was a good hour before curfew. The correct move was obvious. Locking the bathroom door behind her, she started by squeezing her thighs together and shifting her hips, phone in hand. 

The story started in Kristina’s favorite place to write from-the weeks when the sisters had begun sleeping in the same room to try and protect themselves from the ghost. Marguerite, the oldest, had given Helen a glass of milk before bed claiming it’d calm her nerves before tucking her in. Unbeknownst to her it had contained tranquilizers, putting her in a deeper sleep than usual. She didn’t even stir when her sister pulled her nightshirt up to paw at her breasts. 

Serafima at that point started to touch herself, light strokes on the outside of her vulva. She was already wet enough to spill over and soak into her underwear, but the best orgasms came after teasing and patience. In the fic Marguerite was sucking Helen’s breasts and Serafima pinched her own nipples, wondering how it’d feel to have a girl’s tongue and teeth on them. Her cunt throbbed and more slick dripped out at the thought.

Suddenly, an image of Zinaida came into her mind. It wasn’t unusual for her to think of schoolmates, but she tried not to-it felt like a violation to jack off about a girl and then look her in the eye the next day. This time she was too around not to. Zinaida was bigger than her, like how Marguerite was bigger than her sister, and a few months older. 

The fic and her fantasy began to blur. Unable to wait any longer, she leaned back against the wall and rubbed her clit in earnest. She wanted to be helpless like Helen, forced to take whatever touches someone would give her and left desperate for it. Zinaida could hold her down and torment her body, pinch her nipples and clit, bite her lips, spank her cunt the way Marguerite was now doing to test how asleep Helen was. 

She sunk to the ground, hand cramping from how fast she was trying to get off. There was a moan trapped in her throat that she couldn’t release without being heard. If Zinaida wanted, she could stick her fingers in Serafima’s mouth and make her shut up, fingerfucking her until it made wet sloppy noises and the sheets under her body were damp. 

Usually Serafima didn’t fuck herself, but she wanted it now. She pulled her pants down around her ankles and leaned back before shoving two fingers in her cunt. Fluid dripped down the back of her hand as she continued to read. Marguerite was eating Helen out now, savouring the taste of her cunt and the way that even in drugged sleep she still twitched and grunted. In Serafima’s mind that became Zinaida eating her out, long black hair brushing the inside of her thighs and big fingers stretching her open. 

Her own fingers were too small and she looked around the bathroom for something to fill her up. There was nothing under the sink, but in the shower- yes, a bottle of shampoo, that would work. Pants abandoned, she sat back down in the shower and teased herself with the bottle, slicking it up and just barely pushing the fat end inside. This was the first time she’d used anything but her fingers. It was a stretch, and there was a pinch of pain as she eased it inside. She kept pushing and it seemed to go on and on. The cold of the tile sunk into her back as she eased the bottle inside. A good three inches was left when it hit her back wall and made her jump.

She used her thumb on her clit as she finished the story. Whenever Marguerite tormented the helpless Helen in some new way it made her tighten around the bottle, providing a feedback loop of arousal. It ended with the two sisters comfortably wrapped around one another and Serafima hit the heart button before setting her phone aside and dealing with herself. She thrust the bottle gently, freed left hand rubbing at the stretched sides of her cunt. It got easier to move, muscles relaxing around the intrusion, and so she thrust harder and harder until her body jerked and a moan slipped out. It hadn’t been an orgasm, since the pleasure kept going, but it had been good and she wanted to never stop.

Leaning back on the tile floor got uncomfortable after only a few minutes, and so she had to brainstorm again. Slipping the bottle out, Serafima set it on its flat lid and pushed up into a squat. There was a bar on the side of the shower for balance, and so she grabbed that and used it to control her speed as she lowered onto the bottle. It felt deeper like this, her cunt stretched as far in as possible. She took her sweaty shirt off, dropped one hand on the tile in front of her, and bounced on the bottle. 

Time slipped away as she worked herself into orgasm, hand coming up to rub her clit in fast circles. Random images came into her head- Zinaida’s cunt under a leotard, a girl’s hand sliding up her leg, Coach Radulova unzipping her tracksuit jacket and revealing a sports bra her nipples could be seen through. Serafima wanted them all, wanted to have so many things she wouldn’t get. When she came another noise slipped out and she froze through the aftershocks, thighs sticky and trembling, hair stuck to her forehead.

“You good?” Tamara yelled through the door. Serafima checked her phone. She’d spent over an hour masturbating.

“Yeah, I’m just about to take a shower.”

“Don’t hog the hot water.”

The shower erased all traces of what she’d been doing in private. No one would ever know her shame.

Every Sunday was a day off, a day when the girls were allowed to leave the section of the station dedicated to the school and move about freely. Most went to the higher levels, where the main drag and the civilian residents were. Some girls had special passes to visit the sister station, coveted additions to their accounts that let them visit alien gambling dens and head shops where human age restrictions didn’t apply. As long as the damage was gone by Monday morning there were no limits. 

Passes were merit based, and since Serafima was the bottom of the class she had none to her name. Her allowance was only the base level provided, barely enough to buy more than a new pack of socks or a bowl of ramen at the noodle stand. It was a child's spending money, and so she usually descended to the basement levels and sat in the hydroponics and sulked. She and her handful of pennies could sulk childishly together. 

“Sima!” someone called behind her on the way into the basement. “Sima, wait!”

It was Zinaida.

“What?”

“They told me I needed to use my passes, and that I could bring someone along. And I want to bring you.”

It was such a bizarre statement Serafima couldn’t speak for a few seconds. “Don’t you have other friends you’d like to bring?”

“They said they’re busy. Besides, I think we’re friends enough.”

The last time they had spoken to one another was two weeks ago, when Serafima had dropped her ball on Zinaida’s head and apologized. Frankly, it was surprising that they knew the other existed. 

Going with Zinaida meant that Serafima would get to see more of her, and that wasn’t an unappealing prospect. She was dressed in an ankle length skirt and a wrapped sweater that would probably disappear as soon as it got warm. Her hair was down instead of being in a ponytail, waist length and thick and curly. 

“I’ll go. Where are you headed?”

“Monabo! I’ve got a bunch of friends there.”

She grabbed Serafima’s hand on the way up the stairs and interlaced their fingers. She kept a strong grip and never let go, even when they had to scan their wrist IDs to get on the shuttle. It was 9:00 standard, with a 22:00 curfew, so they had plenty of time to spend at the sister station.

“What sort of things do you like to do?” Zinaida asked her on the shuttle ride over. “I mean, besides gymnastics.”

“Watch movies. Read. Galya makes me be her editor.”

“Oh, she makes you read those fics. Not quite my taste, but we can’t all like the same thing.”

“They’re very descriptive.”

“Of the cocks.”

“We can’t all like the same things.”

She realized how that’d sounded as soon as it came out. Zinaida grinned and dropped her free hand to Serafima’s knee, giving it a squeeze. “No, we can’t”

The ride was silent after that.

Monabo was one of the largest mixed species ports in the quadrant, with over 200 ships a day passing through in sizes from event horizon ark to space bike courier. It was louder and more colorful than Outer Ring, with shop owners afforded a higher degree of customization for their storefronts and patrons coming in more shapes than you could shake a stick at. Serafima had grown up in human environments and so struggled to not stare, but Zinaida seemed at ease in the crowd. 

“We’re meeting my friend at the smoke shop upstairs.”

“I’ve never been to one.”

“You’ll do fine. It’s a mild rush at its strongest. Like coming down off caffeine into a nice, solid sleep.” Her hand was wrapped around Serafima’s wrist with an iron grip. “They have private rooms you can do it in.”

The second floor was dimmer than the first, and the third even dimmer still. By the fourth Serafima could only see by the glowing signs of the shops and the luminescent strips placed in the floor. The air was thick with smoke and alien languages-she and Zinaida were the only humans visible.

“What’s the name of this friend?”

“Chhanna. She looks- well, you’ll understand when you see her. But try to keep an open mind.”

The smoke bar was even darker than the outside, lit only by candles placed behind panes of colored glass and a few beaded lamps which had the effect of coloring all of the light in the store. At the cashier’s desk sat an alien Serafima had never seen before, a long furry one with many eyes and legs and little hands fluttering in its coat. 

“Upstairs room, four star size,” Zinaida said. She scanned her thumbprint and her school credits card when the alien made hand signals, then pulled Serafima’s hand up to be scanned as well. From above came a rolling sound like laughing whalesong that vibrated the walls.

“They’re getting rowdy up there.”

“That’s normal.” Zinaida let the alien scan both their wrist IDs before leading Serafima up rickety stairs made of metal sheeting. A lingering smell of burning wood and sweet fruit hung in the air. Confusing patterns were painted onto the walls, endlessly looping and forming massive, larger patterns that echoed outwards to dizzy effect. The floor had plush red Persian carpet that muffled any noise of footsteps, and the same carpet was stuck to the ceiling for some reason. It gave the effect of being inside a massive mouth. 

“Chhanna always runs late, so we’ll have a bit of time to ourselves. That alright with you?”

“Of course.” 

Zinaida opened a door by pressing her hand to a panel hidden within the wall’s pattern. The room was about as big as a dorm room, but significantly taller, around three meters. So much red drapery padded the walls that it felt like a heart, or possibly a womb. Inset into the floor was a conversation pit, and at the center was a brazier with a kettle and the smoking pipe itself. Baskets of snacks and dishes were to the sides of the brazier, as were several unmarked hampers tied shut with green ribbon. 

As soon as the door shut behind them Zinaida took off her sweater. 

“It’s warm in here,” she said. Underneath she was wearing a thin white camisole with no bra. Her nipples were clearly outlined through the cotton fabric. 

“I’m not hot.”

“You will be once we get the fire going. Usually I end up naked.”

The thought of seeing Zinaida nude shouldn’t have made Serafima’s cunt throb so much, but she was weak and easily tempted. If she saw the other girl naked she might try and touch, and if they did fuck then her life would become a living hell of wanting it again and again. That’s what had happened after Yulia. 

“Even in front of your friends?”

“Why not? We’re all girls here.” She smiled that beatific smile and god, Serafima was going to make some choices she would regret. 

They sat in the conversation pit close enough to bump knees and lit the brazier. A smoke pipe was an alien construction that made it easy for groups of people to get high together. There was a stoneware base, which contained either a drug in a solid form, or the liquid form with the highest boiling point. It connected through a central canal to the piece above, usually some sort of thinner pottery, which had a substance with a lower boiling point, and so forth. The most elaborate could contain six or more tiers, all with their own drugs that steamed through a filtered tube and were inhaled. The stacking meant that less potent intoxicants could be used, and that the final experience could be customized- stimulants with psychoactives, relaxants with aphrodisiacs, or even so many levels of depressants that the user could only take one puff before falling into a state of barely-alive consciousness. 

“While we’re waiting, do you want a snack?”

“Sure.”

Zinaida dug in one of the baskets and found a chunk of halva, studded with pistachios. She used her thumbnails to break it even smaller, then stretched her arm and touched a piece to Serafima’s mouth. “Here, try this.”

It was very sweet. Serafima almost commented, but before she could speak Zinaida was shoving an almond cookie in. Then a piece of Turkish delight. She seemed determined to fill her up.

“I’m good,” she managed to spit out between sweets. “Really. Eat some yourself.”

“Suit yourself.” 

When Zinaida ate she licked her fingers, chasing where syrup and honey and crumbly bits of pastry had stuck to them. It was a purposeful ploy, and what was worse was that it worked. Serafima crossed her legs and watched the brazier heat up instead.

When it was perfectly hot the door chimed and an alien came in, the one who must have been Zinaida’s friend. She was-well, unusual, as was to be expected for an alien. One of the levitating ones, her body was shaped like a wide-based matryoshka, with layers upon colorful layers of some fleshy tissue piled around a central column which was visible through a gap in the layers. 

“Hello,” she projected into their minds. It made an external sound like clouds of bees, but from inside Serafima’s head came a clear mellow voice. “You started.”

“Yeah, because you’re always late. The pipe’s already hot.”

Chhanna rested in the lounge next to Zinaida. Up close the inner structures of her flesh-clothing were obvious, as was the base of her body-shiny, white, and ridged like a shell. 

“Since Sima’s a rookie, she gets first puff.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, go on ahead.” Zinaida pulled the mouthpiece from its spot on the side of the smoke pipe and held it close, bits of incense scented smoke sneaking out the tip. “Take a small hit.”

She wrapped her lips around it and sucked in until the hot smoke made her feel like she was about to choke before leaning back and blowing it out. 

“Good! I had someone puke the first time they tried it.” Zinaida took a much longer drag and breathed out her nose, smoke licking around her eyes and the sides of her face. Chhanna levitated the pipe over and underneath, presumably to wherever her breathing port was. The smoke drifting from the top of her body looked a bit like a volcano. 

The passing and eating continued. Zinaida and Chhanna talked for a bit, referencing people Serafima didn’t know or care to ask about. Her entire body was feeling warm and fuzzy, limbs floating away from her and head set spinning in a pleasantly hazy way. She laid back on her couch and stared at the red drapery, rubbing her stomach and thighs. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” 

“Zina told me you edit,” Chhanna buzzed. “That you save us all from Galya’s description of a meaty eight inches.”

“It’s fun. And sometimes she sends me recommendations in return. Like, she doesn’t even like the movie _She_ but I’ve been sent so many good Helen and Marguerite fics. And there’s this one author-she does Laborious Design fic too- that’s just perfect.”

“Does this author write SYH and JL?”

“I think so, why?”

“Then that author is probably me, Kristina.”

Serafima sat up. “That fic you just posted was one of the hottest things I’ve ever read.”

“Thank you. It is difficult for me to imagine how human sex feels, and so I spent a long time researching.”

“I demonstrated,” Zinaida bragged. “Chhanna is such a voyeur, she sat there and watched the first time. Didn’t even bother taking any notes.”

“My species doesn’t have sex, so it’s interesting to watch. And humans are much more flexible. Especially gymnasts.”

The room suddenly felt very hot. Serafima unbuttoned the top of her shirt, only to have Zinaida grab her wrists.

“Do you want to demonstrate?”

Maybe it was the drugs, or the confidence given by having Zinaida pick her to take to a spaceport, or the knowledge that nobody would speak of this tomorrow, but Serafima kissed her instead of saying yes. It wasn’t like the curious kisses she’d had at 14, ones that went nowhere and left her feeling frustrated and too big for her skin. This was a kiss from someone who was going to take her apart and relish in every second of it.

“I’ve done this before,” Seraphima managed to gasp before Zinaida pinned her back on the couch. “So you don’t have to treat me like a virgin.”

“That makes it even better.” 

The thin shirt came off and there were Zinaida’s breasts. They were handful sized, perfect to squeeze and lick and suck. Serafima reached out and touched one, feeling the soft skin beneath her hand. She ignored how her own shirt was being unbuttoned and focused on pinching both nipples, seeing how they got harder and darker.

She had to stop when her own shirt and bra were torn off and tossed aside. Zinaida stuck a thigh between Serafima’s legs and pushed it in, hunched down to get her mouth on her breasts. Serafima gasped and grabbed Zinaida’s hair, arching up into it. Her nipples had never seemed particularly sensitive before, but now they seemed just as sensitive as her clit. 

“I imagined this,” she moaned as she opened her legs wider.

“Did you touch yourself while you did it?”

“Yes!”

“What else did you imagine?”

“You eating me out. Fingering me. Spanking my cunt until I squealed.”

She bit Serafima’s breast in that moment, right on the underside where her leotard would cover it and hard enough to bruise. Instead of finding it painful it made her moan and cant her hips upwards. Zinaida soothed the bite with a kiss before digging her teeth into the other one, this time digging her nails into a nipple.

“I bet you taste good,” she said as she slid Serafima’s pants down. 

“Are you going to spank her?” Chhanna asked. “I’ve never written spanking with a conscious victim before.”

“We’ll see how it goes.” She toyed with the edges of Serafima’s cunt, getting her fingers slick before sliding them in. “I want to play with her for a while. See how much her cunt can take.”

“Fist her?”

“I’m not going to fist a virgin, come on now.”

She curled her fingers up and hit one of the spots that made Serafima’s leg twitch and her heart rate skyrocket. Her clit was ignored as Zinaida fingerfucked her, head bent low to work on marking Serafima’s ribcage with rows and rows of teeth marks. Digging her hands into the couch, she squirmed and dripped and tried to keep her composure even as she felt like her body was melting. 

“You need more, Simochka?”

“Please,” she moaned.

“Chhanna, untie that box for me?”

The ribbon slid open and Zenaida opened the box up with the hand not currently three fingers deep inside Serafima. She pulled out a dildo, one that was an obscene shade of yellow and shaped like a torpedo instead of a cock like most of the ones Serafima had seen. Its shape meant it slid into Serafima’s cunt easily. Zinaida started with gentle thrusts that went about half deep, petting Serafima’s breasts and stomach and the stretch of bruises she’d made earlier. 

“I can take it harder.”

“How do you know?”

“I fucked myself with a shampoo bottle yesterday. It only feels good when it bottoms out, hard and fast.”

“I thought most human women didn’t like that.” Chhanna had moved to lean over Zinaida’s shoulder, like a researcher watching two wild animals fuck. 

“She’s a painslut. Her idea of what feels good is different.”

Serafima got a warm feeling inside her from being called a painslut. Zinaida said it like it was a compliment, like she was proud that Serafima wanted to be treated roughly. And she gave her what she wanted, moving the dildo so fast it made a thump deep inside her as the tip shoved over her cervix. There was pressure building up inside her pelvis and she didn’t know how to relieve it, so instead she moaned.

Zinaida leaned up and kissed her and she relaxed for a second. Suddenly a warm gush of fluid came from her cunt, soaking the couch underneath her and Zinaida’s hands.

“I didn’t think you’d do that.” she said. She pulled the dildo out and rubbed Serafima’s cunt, making sure to avoid her clit. “I think you need a break for a bit. Maybe something more painful?”

“Are you going to spank her cunt now?”

“Be patient! I’m going through my process.”

“Zina, will you please spank me? Anywhere?”

“Fine, fine. But Chhanna has to help.”

“By doing what?”

“Pin her hands above her head and her legs open. Feet, too, in case she kicks.”

An invisible force began to arrange Serafima’s body, more powerful than human muscle and without texture or form. She flexed against it but got only the pain of her contracted muscles being overcome, the force pushing them wherever it wished. At the same time Zinaida was touching her cunt, thumbing open her labia so that her clit was exposed to the air. A fingernail was drawn across it and she shuddered.

“How many times are you going to spank me?”

“As many as it takes.”

She swatted Serafima’s cunt gently, adjusted her angle, then smacked it again. As she continued to hit her blows grew harder and harder, until Serafima was tearing up at how the impact ground her clit into her pelvis.

“She seems a lot tougher than the others.” Chhanna did something with her mind powers, and then Serafima’s legs were being pulled back wider, all the way into an oversplit. She was totally helpless as Zinaida smacked over her clit, her cunt, her inner thighs, even her ass. Tears rolled down her face and she could see how the skin of her inner thighs was turning reddish pink.

“What are you crying for, Simochka? Is it because it feels so good?”

“Yeah,” she sobbed. “You hit me so good.”

No matter how much she sobbed, Zinaida never let up. It burned her clit so bad she couldn’t think of orgasming, only opening her legs wider and asking for more pain.

“My hand is tired,” Zinaida complained after Serafima had lapsed into a silence punctuated by hiccuping sobs. “And you have to hurt.”

“It feels like I’m floating.”

“Yeah, being hit for twenty minutes’ll do that to you. You can let her go, Chhanna.”

“She hasn’t orgasmed.”

“I don’t think her clit could take it.”

To prove a point. Zinaida gave a feather light touch to Serafima’s labia that made her howl. She was incredibly sore, past the point of arousal and into overstimulated pain. She sat up, wincing, and leaned into Zinaida’s shoulder.

“You’re still wearing your skirt.”

“Don’t worry about me. Chhanna handles all of that. She likes to test human bodies out, to get a better feel for how they work. What they do. How they respond to different kinds of stimulation.”

“You should have let me spank Sima. I’ve never tried that.”

“You would have broken her pelvis, dearest.” Zinaida turned around and brushed the layers of skin fabric surrounding Chhanna’s central stalk aside. “Sima, do you want to join me, or do you need a break?”

“Break.”

She was floated over to a dry section of the seating, and poured a cup of warm and spicy tea. It stung her throat like cinnamon and smelled of sweet perfume. The smoke pipe was close at hand, and she took another luxuriant puff while watching Zinaida. The other girl had her hips and legs inside Chhanna, and appeared to be tribbing the central stalk, head tossed back and elbows braced on the table. Her black skirt was up around her waist and it provided a contrast with the opulent colors of the room.

“Are you going to orgasm like this?” Chhanna asked Zinaida. “Because I have not even used something from the box on you, and that is the best part.”

“I can come more than once. This is just a warmup.” She moved her hips faster and faster until a slight orgasm came over her, not a strong shuddering one but instead one that made her sigh and still. “See? Nowhere near done.”

She pulled away to slide off the rest of her clothes, then sat on the couch leaning against Chhanna and playing with her clit. Serafima wasn’t sure what they were waiting for until she saw imprints into Zinaida’s breasts and realized Chhanna was touching her psychically. She watched as invisible fingers combed through Zinaida’s hair, jiggled her breasts and spread her legs open. They then slid to her cunt, first tugging at her clit and then stretching her open. It was amazing, seeing her pink insides with no apparent thing filling them or making them move like that. And her cunt stretched quite a bit, enough for the beginnings of a fist.

“Pass me the pipe.”

Zinaida took a drag off it while her cunt was being pushed wider and wider. “It’s got a muscle relaxer. Perfect for stretching.”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’ve practiced to where it doesn’t. When I take showers I slide a dilator in, and then I hold it until I can’t stand it anymore. My roommate's never noticed.” She patted her stomach. “Want to touch?”

Serafima crawled over and felt the edges of Zinaida’s cunt. There was a thin barrier of force that kept her from feeling the walls directly, but she could easily wiggle four fingers around inside. A trickle of slick dripped out and she leaned down to lick it up. She decided while she was down there to give Zinaida’s clit some attention, working it over with flicks of the tip of her tongue. 

“She’ll get frustrated,” Chhanna warned. “You have to give her head, hard.”

Serafima sucked on Zinaida’s clit in response and got a surprised grunt. She’d long thought of doing this, of seeing a girl’s bare cunt and eating her out until she was holding her breath and her calves were shaking. And it tasted good, a sharp metallic sourness that made her mouth water. 

“See, this is how you get a good orgasm. Nothing like getting head.”

Under her mouth Serafima could feel the stretch growing more and more intense. She would be scared that it would break her, but Zinaida was loving it. Her toes were curling and she was feeling her own breasts, grabbing Serafima’s head when a wave closer to orgasm hit her. Her cunt was wet and sloppy and gaping, pink walls visible almost up to her cervix. 

“Close?” Chhanna asked. “Or need more?”

“Close. Try doing it to Sima, but her clit instead of her cunt. Real gentle so it won’t hurt.”

It was gentle. Chhanna’s touch was no harder than a finger, making slow motions on Serafima’s clit while she continued to eat Zinaida out. Her mouth was full and she rocked her hips back into the touch, humming as she did so. It was a new kind of contentment, a new feeling of belonging. Zinaida came in her mouth and she felt good for having made another person go to those heights. It was always a treat to see how girls reacted to getting proper head and not the half assed motions so many others tried to bring.

“I’m going to be sore tomorrow,” she complained. “Ugh.”

“You’re going to be sore?” 

“We’ll both be.” 

She scratched Serafima’s head and whispered nothings into her ears, gently sliding her higher and higher until she also came. It was more intense than it usually was, her body unsure as to if it was in pain or enjoying the experience. Her entire body was sticky and wet and somewhat slimy, spit and come and sweat making everything a mess. 

“Chhanna,” she said in a haze, “can you orgasm? Like you said that you don’t have sex, but you don’t need sex for an orgasm.”

“I can experience something similar, yes.”

“Can we do that to you? What would it take?”

Her layers slid apart and Serafima could see inside properly. There was about half a meter at the base of solid, dome shaped body, then a central stalk which went from thigh thickness at the base to no bigger around than a wrist at the top. All of the nodules were covered in white semitransparent membrane, but some of them were swollen and showing the movement of colored fluid inside. 

“My central stalk is full of nerves, If enough are stimulated, it produces an effect not dissimilar to orgasm. However, if they are stimulated too fast they will shut down and quit sending signals. Orgasm, therefore, is a balancing act between enough and too much.”

“That’s true for almost everything.”

“But even more so here.” 

“I think we can do it. You feel up for helping, Sima?”

“”It’ll probably take four hands. She’s pretty big.”

Zinaida pulled a vibrator out of the black box, along with a length of velcro. Using her arms and inner thighs she climbed Chhanna’s central stalk like a rope, securing a vibrator on one of the highest plexuses and turning it on fairly high. 

“Toss me another,” she told Serafima, who handed up one of the larger rubber ones and a bit of ribbon. “Some of the dildos, too. There’s sphincters once you get down lower.”

Some of the divots on her stalk and body which Serafima had assumed were simply skin features had begun to split, weeping clear fluid. She stuck her finger in one and Chhanna buzzed, tightening around it so much she couldn’t pull the finger back out.

“Was I not supposed to do that?”

“No, it is fine.” Serafima’s hand was psychically pushed out. “But I am too hot and dry. When I am at home they open and filter the liquid and heavy gases around me. In this air, they stay closed to prevent dehydration.”

“And the oozing ones?”

The tone of the voice in Serafima’s head seemed embarrassed on this point. “Arousal. Dilation makes it easier to filter large gametes out.”

There were at this point five vibrators attached to her. Zinaida hopped down and sat next to Serafima, pulling her aside for a secret discussion.

“We’re going to crack the smoke pipe open and burn the relaxants and arousers directly. I think she’ll need quite the dose to loosen up, and I want to get my fist in her egg sac.”

“It’ll fit?”

“I saw her take five tentacles up it this one time at a xenorgy. Human hands are nothing.”

She reached over and pulled apart the stacks of the smoke pipe, letting Serafima flame the brazier’s coals back into a red hot head before putting specific clay disks back on the heat. 

“Wait, won’t we get dosed up as well?”

“Less potent on humans. And if it gets too bad I’ll slap your cunt and make you eat me out.”

That plan, for all that it didn’t involve Serafima coming, was still something she’d file into the back of her mind. The air was growing thick and smoky as the new substances burned, leaving Serafima buzzed and wet but not unbearably so. Chhanna, however, was opening up like a flower. Multiple slits and stomas were opening up on her, all oozing that same clear fluid. Serafima licked some up and found it musky, darkly floral and bitter enough to make her drool. 

She tried a finger in one of the stomas and found it tight but workable. Gently fucking her finger in and out, she stretched it to two fingers. Next to her Zinaida was fitting a vibrator in one of the smaller slits, two more toys placed in other holes.

“It’s like sex with a sponge,” she said. “Impossible to fill it up.”

“You’re doing quite a good attempt.” Chhanna hummed. “I feel quite full already.”

“We’ve barely started. There’s two more boxes worth of stuff.”

“Is there an extra fee for using everything?”

“It’s included in the room price. They’ve had to clean up worse. Once there was a fifteen person orgy in one room. Every surface was soaked.”

Sticking a vibrator in the two holes she had been working, Serafima moved to work at the largest slit. She lapped at the fluid dripping from it, sliding her tongue in and out of where the white waxy membrane turned into lukewarm gooey flesh. 

“Getting her ready for my hand?”

“Your hand?” Chhanna said faintly.

“You’re getting close.” Zinaida showed where she could go three fingers into one of the smaller stoma. “The drugs really help.”

Buzzing louder and louder, Chhanna continued to be filled. Time dilated into nothing as Serafima and Zinaida worked, stopping occasionally to make the other one orgasm again and to give Chhanna a break. Waves of clear fluid soaked the lounge where Zinaida’s fist fit in. It was sloppy, messy, work. Serafima licked up mouthfuls of slick until she was full and Zinaida was elbow-deep inside Chhanna.

“Has she orgasmed yet?”

“Four times.”

“Oh.”

The time was right around 17:00, and the last shuttle back to school left at 18:00, so they dried off as best they could and left Chhanna in a puddle in the room. Zinaida said that they’d let her stay overnight for a fee and Serafima trusted that; she was too busy thinking about her poor sore cunt and nipples. It hurt to sit on the shuttle seat, and it hurt even more when she took a shower that night and washed the stench of sex off her body. She slept so hard that Tamara had to shake her awake the next morning, and she almost cried during stretches due to how sore everything was. Zinaida looked unaffected, but she also wasn’t meeting Serafima’s eye.

This went on for three days. Zinaida wasn’t being cold, but she wasn’t reaching out. It was if the weekend had never happened, which was the one result that Serafima had been terrified of. She wanted Zinaida again, more and more than ever before. It didn’t have to be the orgy of before, just something simple where she got to shove her head between Zinaida’s legs again and eat her out until she couldn’t breathe.

During class on the third day after she pulled up her rarely-used messenger app and sent a text to Zinaida.

_can we talk later?_

_yeah sure. when?_

_library at 19:30?_

_too public. meet me in the 5th floor bathrooms at 18:45._

Settling into her seat, Serafima wondered if that meant they were going to have sex again. Her cunt was no longer sore and she’d played with her clit while thinking about that weekend in the shower. Tamara and Galina hadn’t been able to tell she’d had sex, nor the coaches or the teachers or even the school security guards when she’d scanned back into class. It only existed in her memory and the fading bruises on her breasts.

And since nobody could tell, it would be okay for the two of them to have sex again. She ached for it, and privately she wished that they wouldn’t talk at all during their meeting that evening. 

18:40 came and Serafima left dinner early, setting her tray at the disposal station and telling Tamara that she was headed for the rec room. Instead she took a left outside the gym, going up the narrow back access stairs which led to the 5th floor. Existing mostly for storage, it wasn’t off limits to students, but few were ever up there. Few staff ever ventured up there outside of the costume mistress, and she always quit at 18:00 sharp to sit in her suite and watch Red Velvet Passions while knitting and drinking plum wine.  
Zinaida was in the third stall down with her schoolbag, jacket unzipped to the bottom of her sports bra and hair still up in a ponytail from class. She greeted Serafima by giving her an open mouth kiss, squeezing her ass and pinning her against the stall door.

“I thought you were done with me,” Serafima said. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I thought I’d scared you away.”

“Scared me?”

“Our first time having sex, and I spank your cunt and have you fuck an alien? That’s a bit extreme.”

“I didn’t say no.”

“You could have thought you weren’t allowed.”

“But I didn’t.” Serafima reached her hand up to cup Zinaida’s breasts, squeezing them gently as if they were going to bruise from her touch. “I enjoyed it, Zina. Isn’t that enough? And I want it again.”

“You do?”

“I touched myself in the shower this morning thinking about you.”

“Ohhh.”

She kissed down Zinaida’s neck, down her cleavage and ribcage and stomach until she was at her waistband. Tugging both her sweatpants and underwear down, she nipped at Ziniada’s inner thigh and tapped her tongue over her buried clit. “I thought about this. Eating you out, tasting you. I never knew how good it was before.”

Her tongue moved slowly, pressing flat into Ziniada’s clit before sliding up and down to try and taste her already present slick. It made her mouth water, just like before, sour and metallic and salty. She slid one finger back and into Zinaida’s cunt, making her spread her legs open wider. In the tile bathroom moans seemed much louder, more obscene. Someone could hear, not that they would, and this time it wouldn’t be Serafima shrieking but instead Ziniada falling apart on one finger and a tongue.

“Are you more sensitive?” Serafima asked while she licked her lips. “You weren’t this loud Sunday.”

“The smoke pipe, ah, dulls everything. Without it I can come just by humping a pillow.”

Serafima pressed a second finger in and admired the way her thighs shook, biting one of the sections that jiggled. She returned to eating her out, slowing every tongue movement down to a crawl until Zinaida was thrusting her hips and scratching her fingernails on the hard siding behind her. Half her ponytail had come out, and lines of sweat were dripping between her breasts. And she was so very, very wet. Serafima kept stopping to lick her fingers clean, which made Zinaida protest.

When they heard the sound of students leaving at the end of dinner bell Serafima began to suck Zinaida’s clit directly, making her squeak. Her legs were shaking so badly Serafima had to brace her against the wall, trying to keep her from collapsing to the floor in a damp puddle. She knew nobody would come up to this floor, but she felt a rush of arousing fear at the thought of some random student coming in and her having to stop, leaving Zinaida on the edge of frustrated orgasm while whoever it was went about their business.

“I’m close,” Zinaida begged.

“Mmmm.” Serafima hummed around her clit and that sent her over the edge, slicking her own thighs as she came. “How soon can you go again?”

“I’m too sensitive.”

“Not even a little orgasm?” She stroked her finger at the edges of Zinaida’s cunt. “This is what you meant when you said talk, yes?”

“Not exactly.” Ziniada slid to the floor next to her. “I’ve had this dream, for a while, of doing an old ritual from when some of the first colonists landed on my home planet and found themselves without light for a very, very long time. So instead of tattoos and jewelry they cut scars into themselves so that others could feel them. And one of the most important ones were the initials of the ones you slept with.”

“You want me to carve my initials into you.”

“Yes.”

It sounded fucked up beyond belief. And yet-she wanted it. The evil little possessive part of her wanted a reminder that Zinaida was hers, that she’d touched her in a way that the rest of the girls at the school never had. She might flunk out of the program, never qualify for a single Galactic Games, be a footnote in the school record books, but if there was a scar Zinaida could never let her go.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

Zinaida pulled a small blade out of her bag, one with a rough metal handle and a sharp surgical blade capped in plastic. “Usually you’d have to write it over my heart, but I don’t want anybody else to see the scar.”

“It’s our secret.”

“Exactly.”

Serafima kissed the soft skin under her breast. “Would this work? It’s still pretty close.”

“Yeah, just let me-” She pulled the skin taught and leaned into the stall door. “There. And do it neat, alright? I knew one guy whose boyfriend was so nervous he misspelled his own initials. They had to get a professional cutter to make it into a leaves and vine design.”

The first touch of the blade made Zinaida his and a drop of blood bead up and out. Serafima’s first letter was easy, a simple curve like a cupped hand. The second required more precision, three straight lines she measured with her pinky, and the last one was the trickiest since each curve had to match, all blooming around the straight backbone.

“Are you done yet?” Zinaida cried. Tears were flowing down her face but she refused to sob outright, instead sniffling into her hand. “God, it hurts so much worse than I thought.”

Serafima angled the blade in deeper, “Almost, there, just have to make sure it’s deep enough it’ll scar. Do you really plan on going to practice with this?”

“Once you pack the cut it doesn’t hurt so much, I’ve heard.”

“Pack it?”

“Fill it with ash bound together by resin. It makes the scar grow thicker and darker, so I’ll be covering it with a skin patch instead of concealer.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“I’ve had this planned out for a while. I just didn’t have anyone to do it with. But then I watched you fuck Chhanna like it was nothing, and I knew I’d be proud to have your initials on me.”

“Even if I’m the worst in the class?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you? That’s better than a lot of girls will ever get. And you’re a lot better of a fuck. I did Ira once, and she couldn’t eat cunt worth a damn, and Masha doesn’t trim her nails.” She kissed Serafima on the mouth, blood rolling down her torso and into the fold of her hip. “Now I’ve gotta pack and bandage it.”

“Can I help?”

Zinaida stood. “I’ve got the process, but I could use a distraction from the pain. Gently, though, alright?”

Since Serafima was naturally kind she listened to Zinaida and only sucked her clit lightly, focusing more on fingering her and seeing which places in her cunt made her legs shake. She licked the blood from where it had run down her body, savoring its metallic and salty taste that was so different from slick, watching Zinaida press a sticky black substance into the cuts. Her cunt ran wet even when she whimpered in pain, and Serafima made her orgasm twice before she’d finished treating her new wounds.

“I think you’re also a painslut,” Serafima said as she ran a nail up and down Zinaida’s inner thigh. “You’re getting pretty wet for someone who’s bleeding.”

“You marked me. Then you licked up the blood. That’s inherently arousing, even if you weren’t also ripping my pants off to eat me out.”

“You’re pretty hot yourself.”

Serafima reached into her underwear and circled her own clit, licking come off Zinaida’s at the same time. She loved how it smelled, how it stuck to the sides of her mouth and dripped down her chin. An image came into her mind-eating Ziniada out on her period, combining both flavors, soaking her face in blood until she looked like a hyena that’d been neck deep in an antelope. Doing something so intimate during a vulnerable time made her drip. Before she’d thought about being controlled, now she wanted control. She wanted the same feeling she’d got digging the razor into Zinaida’s skin.

“Are you going to go to the smoke den again this weekend?” she asked.

“I don’t know if my body could handle it. I was exhausted Monday morning. And none of my other alien contacts will be in, and they’re half the fun of going.”

“How’d you meet them?”

“Home planet connections. Online friendships. Stuff like that. The other girls never liked me much because of my talent, so I had to find friends elsewhere.”

“And me?”

“You watched me, but you didn’t have that same frustration in your eyes. It’s why I asked you out.”

“No need for me to be. Different levels. You’re headed to the Galactic Games and I’m headed for the dinner entertainment slot on space liners.”

Zinaida was silent. “Would you still see me, if I left?”

“I just carved my name in your skin. Don’t you think I’d try? And the sex was killer.”

“You don’t have much experience to compare.”

“Just because we don’t all have unlimited credits to get high off of...” She stood to look Zinaida in the eye. “I do think that we should try and actually talk. Get to know one another a little.”

“It’s kinda late to start that, don’t you think?”

“Never too late. We just might have done things backwards.”

“Yeah, real backwards.”

Serafima pressed her face into Zinaida’s neck and smelled her, sweat and shampoo and a hint of blood. That one fantasy she’d had Saturday night came to mind (was it really that long ago that she’d been fucking herself with only a shampoo bottle?) and it made her feel weak all over.  
“I had this one fantasy about you-”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I got drugged and fell asleep, and you used my body. And I’ve gotten to make you mine, but what if I want to be yours in return? Space is a very large place, Zina.”

“Are you saying you want me to scar you?”

“Why not? I’m a painslut, aren’t I?”

“When you put it like that, I guess it makes sense.” She pulled out the blade. “Usually I’d worry about cleaning this, but you just licked up all my blood. So I guess you're not that worried about catching something.”

“You’re clean, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. They blood test Level X every other week. Right or left side?”

“Left, so mine touches yours.”

She began with the swooping curves of her first name, then the lines of an M and finishing with the line bow line of her last name. Serafima tried to breathe through her nose and keep calm, but the second letter dug in hard and made her give out a little sob. Her cunt, too, responded, giving those pulses from low in her stomach that meant she was turned on. Zinaida didn’t lick up the warm blood that trailed down her flank, instead immediately switching from cutting to packing the wound. That stung worse, the exposed layers of the dermis being irritated by the pitch black ash.

“Do I just keep the wrapping on?” she asked.

“Change it when you shower, and keep the area clean. It’s going to ooze black for a while, so don’t wear anything white. And put painkiller gel on the cuts! They’ll hurt if you train normally.”

She cautiously prodded at the area. It throbbed, as she’d expected, but it made her cunt throb too and she kissed Zinaida in her excitement. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll look wonderful.”

“I think mine will look wonderful, too.”

After three weeks it healed over and Serafima had a permanent mark of Zinaida on her ribcage. They’d visited the smoke bar in the time since then, with two aliens along- one a delicate creation of cells that could do electrostim and the other another floating species whose regeneration capabilities meant it loved to bleed. There were rumors about the time she and Zinaida seemed to be suddenly spending together, but Galina and Tamara were too discreet to ask and the opinions of nobody else mattered. They had other things in their lives they thought were more important to hold on to.

Serafima had an old girlfriend over in the artistics department, and she turned her down with a cheerful I have someone. Zinaida’s roomate was never in, and so Serafima could lounge around in her bed with her shirt off so the initials carved in her skin were visible. Both of them had sex all over the school, in locations from the bathrooms to an empty equiptment room and even to the costume room after hours, while they were supposed to be dusting but instead ended up on the floor making each other bleed with needles.

But school was temporary, and it came time for the end of term and therefore break. Serafima stood in the queue for her shuttle home and wondered when they’d meet again. A month was such a long time.

“Sima,” Zinaida whispered in her ear behind her. “I have something for you.”

It was a ticket for a round-way trip to the Galaxaport Station, halfway between their home planets, dated for two weeks out.On that station was a smoke bar, yes, but also the sort of restaurants frequented by young couples and a lovely promenade for watching the stars.

“You got these just for me?”

“I want to see you every day. A month would be too much.”

She wrapped her arms around Zinaida and hugged her tight, their scars touching from underneath their clothing. “I do too,” she said. “Forever and always.”

“Forever and always.”


End file.
